I'm Still Listening
by Atkar
Summary: "The sound of the traffic roaring by, the whip of a harsh wind lashing across the city, the cough of humanity as spectators stop and stare – the world surrounds us and drowns our words out until all we can do is watch." [Oneshot]


**I'm Still Listening**

The sound of the traffic roaring by, the whip of a harsh wind lashing across the city, the cough of humanity as spectators stop and stare – the world surrounds us and drowns our words out until all we can do is watch.

"Ymir!" your lips shout.

I smile and I watch a reflection waver.

The cars blare and the people stand, stunned and impatient.

You shout again and again, but the noise is too loud and all I can do is notion that I'll be at your side soon, turning away and walking along the slippery pavement, disappearing into a crowd of pale faces.

I see you again not long after. I finally reached you, the quiet of the night so still that I can hear your breathing. It's halting, as if it catches in your throat with every inhale and exhale.

You must have argued with your mother again and I know nothing I can say will make you feel any better. I settle down on your bed beside you and stroke my fingers down the side of your face. Your eyes close and you lean into my touch, your shuddering breath blinking away tears.

I let you fall asleep in my arms that night but I'm gone when you wake. You didn't expect anything else.

We had long ago planned to meet up that weekend and I waited outside the restaurant for an entire hour before I see you walk towards me. I wonder if I should ask why the tears are still quivering on your eyelashes, but then I know better to question what happens at home now so instead I take hold of your hand and lead you inside.

The waitress gives us strange looks when we take our seats. I glare at her but she glances away to take your order. You request a large glass of white wine and I don't bother to hide my surprise.

"You don't usually drink," I comment as the waitress pours. I know I'm frowning at her and I'm seconds away from telling the woman to throw the bottle aside and take the glass with her.

But I don't because I can see the way you're looking at your hands. It's as if you're reading the thousands lies and the hundred more horrid truths you've been told in the lines crisscrossing on your palms. I realize that what I initially thought was old nail paint is actually a scratch of blood.

"Christa," I call but you still watch the slight movements of your fingers as you sip from your wine glass. "Historia," I call again, wondering if the name your father once gave you will achieve something more than a faraway gaze.

You finally look up and there's a faint glimmer of your usual smile but it doesn't reach your eyes.

"What happened?" I ask, knowing full well that I won't get an answer. I never do – not to that question.

And, just like all the other times, you shake your head slightly and then, unlike all the other times, you swig back the wine with a large gulp.

I offer to pay the bill and grab a few scruffy notes from my pocket, but you already have your credit card out and the waitress lets you stab your pin number into the machine.

I walk you home and you talk about everything except what's bothering you. You talk about how Sasha is in the semi-finals of a cooking competition and how Eren had finally got the promotion he had been working hard for and how Bert had written a love letter but no one knows who the intended recipient is yet. You tell me what you had for breakfast and what you might do tomorrow, but when your house looms in front of us your words die on your tongue.

I squeeze your hand and you smile. I bend down and press a gentle kiss to your lips, and you feel so warm that I don't want it to end – but it does, and before I even pull away you're gone, slipping inside your cold house without a look over your shoulder.

I see you next when I'm lounging on a bench in the park. It's drizzling, the sky a dismal grey and the freezing water is trailing down the back of my neck and yet I don't feel it. You're on your Saturday morning jog but it seems more like you're trying for the record of the fastest mile.

I scramble to my feet and catch you up, making a stupidly witty comment that you can't hear because of the horrid dubstep music pounding out of your headphones. I've always wondered how you can listen to that stuff while jogging every day, the same ten song playlist on repeat for however long you hit the pavements with those age-old trainers of yours.

I decide to not disturb your concentration and keep pace a few steps behind you, waiting for when we reach the peak of the hill where I know you'll stop and drink from the water fountain at the viewpoint.

To my surprise, you don't. Instead you keep running as if your life depended on it. I can't pretend that doesn't concern me so I grab your arm and make you stop, your trainers scraping on the gravel at our feet.

You keep your headphones on and I reach up to pull them down, the music easily getting on my nerves now but you flinch and that sends a jolt through me.

And then you spin away and keep running.

Once I get over my panicked shock, I try to chase after you but I can't find you. The rain has got worse, my clothes now soaked and clinging to my body like an uncomfortable second skin.

When I do find you it's a week later and you're with Sasha and some other people, the largest grin on your face that I've seen in a long time and I have to stop and stare just to take it in for a moment.

Then your eyes catch mine across the street and you freeze. I wave, feeling a bit stupid as your friends look to see what you've seen.

I imagine that you would cross the street so we could meet halfway but you don't. Instead you say something to your friends and they laugh and then…you walk away.

I scoff at myself. Of course you wouldn't rush across the street. You may be happier now – whatever happened at home has been buried once again – but you never came out to your friends. I've never been introduced to them. They don't know me.

I decide to text you later but when I pat down my pockets I realize that I've lost my phone.

We keep meeting and seeing and whispering to each other like this for the next few months, your smiles real sometimes and then others like a dying wisp of smoke on your lips.

Then one day I'm laid on your bed after dragging myself through your bedroom window like so many times before and you're curled up in my arms, fast asleep. Your blonde hair has gotten long now and it surrounds you like a bright halo, your hands tucked in between us and I notice you've painted your nails again. I wonder that if they weren't painted black I would see blood again.

"I love you," I whisper and you twitch in your dreams.

I'm standing outside my favourite café, pondering the menu hanging beside the door for what to have for today's breakfast when I spot something familiar in the corner of my eye.

It's you, and you're alone.

I frown. You're not wearing a coat and it's the middle of winter.

I jog across the zebra crossing, throwing a vulgar hand gesture at the man who slams hard on his horn when I cut across the front of his car without waiting.

I can't quite seem to catch you up and when I do I've already shrugged out of my hoodie. I carry it over one arm, preparing to throw it over your shoulders when you least expect it...

But then I notice where you're going.

The iron-wrought gates swing slightly in the wintry breeze, chilling everyone to the bone and making their hair dance to a cruel symphony. You step inside, following the moss-covered path among the marble and stone, passing statues and names of countless number.

Then you take a sharp right and stop in front of a fresh stone compared to the others surrounding it. The ground in front of it has a few flowers but they look dropped with little care, as if they were placed for duty rather than for love.

You kneel it front of it, the mud probably dirtying your skirt, and you tidy them, aligning the bouquets perfectly beside each other. Then you stand and I approach slowly, wondering whose name I'll see engraved in that pale stone. Did your father die? Is this why your smiles never reach your eyes anymore? Why didn't you tell me? I could have been there for you.

"An entire year, eh?" you suddenly say and your voice makes me jump. "And a long, horrible year it's been."

A year? Your father died a year ago? Oh…why did you never tell me?

I take another step towards you, my hands up to wrap my hoodie around your shoulders and pull you close.

"Why didn't you wait?" you ask the stone. "We weren't in a rush. You didn't need to run the light and leave me all alone like this."

"All alone?" I repeat. "But I'm here for you, if you would let me be."

But you don't react and my hands have frozen, hovering over you but not touching you yet, my fingers tightening into clenched fists until my hoodie is all screwed up.

"You broke your promise," you say. "The only promise you ever made me and you broke it."

I don't know if you're talking to the grave or me anymore, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Because I've seen the words engraved there and it's my name scratched into the stone.

"You promised you'd always be here for me," you say, tears glistening in your eyes and falling down your cheeks. "You promised you'd always be here to listen."

I swallow, finally dropping the hoodie onto your shoulders and knowing that you can't feel it.

"You broke your promise," you say again, your voice a quiet wail now.

I wrap my arms around you and know you can't feel my warmth because I'm forever cold now.

"But I didn't," I whisper in your ear, praying that you'll hear my words but knowing that you could never. "I'm still here. I'm still listening."

But my voice is as empty as the wind and you can never hear me anymore.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, pressing a kiss to your messy hair and wishing I could thaw your frozen skin. "I'm so sorry."

"Why, Ymir…why…"

"I love you," I tell you and the world steals my words away. "I'll never leave you."

But you're as alone as I am and all I can do is watch.

"I'm still listening, Historia. Always."


End file.
